The Oblivious Mode
by Yih
Summary: IC. AU. Rory and Logan are best friends from childhood living together in a posh NYC penthouse. What happens when Rory finally realizes what Logan really feels for her?
1. Chapter 1

**THE OBLIVIOUS MODE   
**_Chapter 1_

"Sock, sock, where are you?" There's a stumble, a curse, and then a: "Stop grinning at me like that," he muttered. Marty's looking hopelessly ridiculous searching through his empty pants and I must say, desperate. "You could help," he accused. I was still lying prone, waiting.

My sleepy eyes stared at him, bemused. "It's on the table to your right." The happiness was transitory. "You're going to be late if you don't hurry."

His hand fumbled, putting his socks on. The grandfather clock chimed 8 times on the hour. "I hate that clock."

I grabbed his wrist and kissed it. "You need to go Marty."

"I don't want to." Lips brushed mine. "I want you." I shove. "Oh fine, be that way." A frown then another kiss and one more push. "I'm going, I'm going." He went.

I sighed and wrapped the blanket around me, smelling his earthy scent. I ought to get up. I ought to go check my messages. Today there might be a job for me. I needed the money, God knew that. If only I could get my lazy ass out of the bed and actually be falsely enthusiastic, then everything would be all right.

Squint. It's only 8:10. One more 30 minute nap and I'll get out of bed. My head's partially buried and my body's all ready to drift out when the avalanche of knocks came. It's enough noise that I wanted to mimic Marty and use curses in several different languages except that I only knew one.

"It's time to get up, Rory."

I groaned. Leave me alone. It's only 8:11.

"You've got ten messages."

Double groans and back popping.

"I've got black, black coffee just the way you like it."

I needed my caffeine fix.

"Your mobile's ringing."

It's too early I chanted, far too early to get up and out of bed into the shower then out and get into clothes and grab the coffee and check the messages and run off to work.

"I'm coming in if you don't come out."

He's going to see me semi-naked. Whoop-dee-doo. Been there, done that. Oh hell I bet he's going to come in and tickle me. I swung my legs over and planted my feet on the floor just as he walked in.

"Marty was here," he stated blandly, looking at the clothes strung all over the floor. I ought to be embarrassed. Really, I ought to. Logan might not be my real brother, but he's the closest thing to family that I've got left. Unfortunately, I can't manage to blush. But I can yawn. "He told me to tell you that he'd pick you up at 7 tonight for dinner."

His tone. It's acidic. "You don't like him."

"I don't have to like him. You do."

Point taken. "And I do."

Whatever expression was on his face was mute; I couldn't see a thing without my glasses. Knowing Logan, he's probably got that disgusted Huntzberger superiority on full blast. I reached for my glasses, deciding that I might as well get up since he wasn't going to let me sleep. He beat me to it, placing my Modo frames on for me.

"Better?" he inquired dryly, sounding like he needed some sweet water in him. "Now that you can see, would you like to get dressed and clean up so that you don't hurt my eyes and injure my nose?"

So I stunk and looked bad, brilliant. If I had been 18, I would have stuck my tongue out. I thought it better and more mature of me to merely pout. He laughed and his hand proceeded to mess my hair up. "You're not helping," I whined. "Now my hair's a mess."

Taking me by the hands, he pulled me up and propelled me into the bathroom. "Shower first, then wash your face and brush your teeth, and meet me in the kitchen in 15 minutes, okay?"

"Bah."

"Lovely."

Forehead kiss. Door slammed. I stared at the shower stall and contemplated actually listening to my bossy best friend. Covering my lower jaw, I breathed out and sniffed. Yes to foul, damn Logan. Might as well shower then scrub my teeth so minty clean that even he can't complain.

"Shit," I cursed. The water was cold.

-

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Shaved and groomed, and frightfully well dressed. Logan was looking killer in Marc Jacobs. "Morning," I grumbled. I, on the other hand, didn't even want to look at myself. What was this rag I was wearing? The name? What name?

"You look nice," he commented. I did a double-take on him suspiciously. Logan's Mr. Snazzy. This rag I was wearing would dement his ego to wear. It was shapeless to the point of unisex. "Here's your coffee."

"Thank you." I cradled the cup. Hot, strong, black coffee was 8:30's salvation. "When are you leaving?"

"Soon," he answered. "Are you working today or writing?"

The simple gist: (1) working meant running around doing odd jobs for strange people that paid me to put up with their inanities and (2) writing was my real love which unfortunately did not pay at all and only seemed to eat up what money I did earn. Dubiously, I glared at the beeping Samsung. Ten messages. There had to be a viable job out of them that I could stand to stomach.

"Working."

"Oh."

I chugged the coffee. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He waved his hand carelessly. "If you were staying home, I'd drop you off something to eat." I stared at him blankly. "There's nothing in the pantry," he explained. "You'd starve if you stayed home."

"My, aren't you the example of kindness and generosity?"

"I care," he stated while refilling my cup. "You'll ring me and let me know when to expect you back tonight, all right?"

Logan was my damn keeper. "All right," I agreed. He smiled and it was worth it. He was gorgeous when he smiled. "Are you going to cook tonight?" I tried not to sound alarmed, but if he was cooking I wasn't coming home.

"Aren't you eating with Marty tonight?" he inquired instead, deliberately ignoring the carefully hidden insult to his lack of cooking skills. "Surely he must be cooking you something spectacular in his humble abode."

"He's got a gig in Boston," I explained. "He won't be back until the day after tomorrow."

"Long gig."

"He's just playing at a few clubs around the area."

Out of the blue: "I preferred Tristan."

"Well," I bit a lip, "he and I aren't like that, and we never were really like that. Just friends, good friends. A few kisses on the cheek don't mean anything." Before he could ask something I don't want to answer, I suggested, "We should go eat out at O'Rourke's tonight."

It was his favorite place to eat, but we normally went with the places I liked to eat. More of the tasty, fatty fast food variety. He raised an eyebrow.

"You're being awfully nice," he phrased carefully. "Do you need something?"

I frowned.

"Well," he murmured, "it's not like you to offer to eat somewhere you don't really like even if it is for my benefit."

Unfortunately, what he said was true. "I don't know," I mumbled, feeling foolish. "I thought it might be nice to go out and eat and I don't know, talk and stuff. We haven't done much together recently."

"No," he agreed. "You're too busy sexing up Marty."

He really did not like my boyfriend. "Do you want to go or not?"

He looked at me, really looked at me. "Do you want me to go?"

"OF COURSE!"

There was a grin. "Okay then."

Logan was absolutely infuriating. "If I knew I was going to be interrogated asking you to dinner, I wouldn't have asked," I muttered. I took the buttered bread he handed to me and took a huge bite. "Yum!"

"You're easy to please."

The clock read 8:45. "Don't you have to leave?"

He looked and sighed. "I do." Leaning over, I knew what he wanted. I kissed both of his cheeks soundly; I made those childish smacking noises that made him wiggle his nose in unfailing repugnance. "Call me."

"I said I would," I poked his chest, "and I will. I'll be back before the reservations. Oh and before you leave, do you want to call them or do you want me to?"

"I'd better call." It'd be impossible to get reservations this late without him making his impossible Huntzberger demands. He glanced again. "I'd better get going. Talk to you later?"

Another unsubtle hint to call. "Yes. Now go!"

Logan was gone and I stared at my once again buzzing mobile. Message time. I stuffed the rest of my morning deliverance in and took the Samsung gingerly. Flipping it open I dialed up my voicemail.

"You have reached the voicemail of... Rory Gilmore. After the beep, you may leave a..." I pushed pound. "Welcome to your voicemail, please enter your pin code followed by the pound button." I dialed the numbers. "Hello, you have ten new voice messages. Press one to listen to the first of your new messages." I pressed one. "Your first message is: Hello Rory, it's Paris. It's 7:45 pm. If you have time tomorrow call before noon. Basically it's running around doing some organizing and whatnot. You know the number."

Paris Gellar-Richmond. Rich was a clever part of her surname and it suited her aptly. Unlike the typical trophy wife, Paris had brains. It was unfortunate she had the tendency to overdo everything. And it was never perfect until it was absolutely perfect.. However, she was smarter than the average multi-millionaire's wife, and it wasn't that distasteful. Also, she paid well.

I jotted her name. Working for her today was a viable option.

"Press seven to delete..." I pushed seven. "Your second message: ANNNNT ANNNNT ANNNNT..." Ear trauma. The atrocious hang-up sound. It must have been Missus Rich calling again to make sure that I hadn't just missed the call and decided not to call back. Impatient witch. "Press..." Seven. The third and fourth messages were the same as the second and I was starting to want to cross Paris off my possible to-do list.

"Your fifth message is," I braced myself, "Hi Rory, Louise Price here. If you're not busy sometime this afternoon, our nanny decided to be sick and I don't have anyone to pick the kids up from school and carpool them to lacrosse practice. If you can do it, that's great and if you can't, do you know anyone that could? Call me back. 731-456-2943."

Louise was a kid creating nut. She had five already and with the way her husband still looked at her, there were probably more on the way. It was rather sweet, but alarming too. There were enough little Prices running around in NYC as it was. It might be possible for me to take on Paris and Louise both, and if I did this week was saved.

Monday had started off slow. Tuesday had continued that rhythm. Wednesday had perked up and Thursday had been dismal. TGIF. I had to work. I listened to the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th messages listlessly. One was a hypochondriac. Another was a shrew. The next had anxiety issues and was an obsessive compulsive cleaner. But the last one, Madeline was simply single. But compared to Louise and Paris, Madeline was easy to deal with. Too bad I had already promised to be at O'Rourke's with Logan.

I rang him up anyway. "Hi Madeline, it's Rory."

"Good morning. How are you?" came the polite, well-bred response.

"Not good," I responded honestly. "You?"

"Better if you can come and get some work done for me."

"I can, but..."

"That's never a good word, but."

"It isn't," I agreed. "I'd love to come to work for you..."

She inserted the, "But..." for me.

"I have dinner plans."

"I suspected, the hot blond you're living with?"

I choked on air, cleared my throat, and said, "But if it's possible, I could come early Saturday morning and get things done."

"You would? Could you?"

"I could if you wanted me to."

"Of course I do. My office's been a mess without you. I really ought to hire you full-time for me," she mused. "It's a pity I can't afford you all the time."

"A pity, so when would you like me to stop by tomorrow?"

"7?"

No out loud gasping. It was a successful attempt at squelching raspy throat noise. "I'll be there."

"I'll see you tomorrow then, and Rory?"

"Yes Madeline?"

"You're crazy."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good day."

"Good-bye."

Now I only had to call Paris and Louise.

-

**Author's Note:** I realize this is very different from the GG-world, but that's what I intended. In this one, Rory wants to be a writer, which I don't think is such a stretch for her. The most important interactions are between Rory and Logan, and the other characters are very minor. I'll explain why Lorelai and her grandparents aren't in this later, but they aren't. However, Logan's parents will make a showing. Bah, so for a complete AU how did I do? Also I'll be yanking this off the web if there's not enough interest shown. Thanks for reading!

TBC (as soon as you review)


	2. Chapter 2

**THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
**By Yih

Note: All of Rory's family is dead, and they had a financial crisis which is why Rory's poor. Remember this is an AU, nothing from GG is the same.

Chapter Two

First ring, second ring, and pick up the phone _damn it_ Logan. It never took him until the third ring, not when he knew it was me. I had a special ring tone. Something loud and obnoxious, so he had to be in a conference meeting. Bloody great, who knew when he'd get out? Sides, if I couldn't talk to him now, who knew when I'd get another free five minutes from the workaholic and rich socialite?

Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, I chanted. I braced myself for the voicemail to pick up, but heaven be praised: "Sorry Rory."

Apologies from Logan were like NYC traffic ceasing, it didn't happen. "Are you inebriated?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Why do you ask?"

"You said sorry."

I pictured him rolling my eyes and his tone only amplified it: "Is that a crime?"

"Nope," I responded, "just surprising from you."

"So when do you think you'll be able to get to O'Rourke's?" he asked. How typical of him to ignore the conversational direction I wanted to go. "And who are you working for today?"

"I think around 7 should be good." In my estimation, I would be able to get away from Paris at 6:00 when she started fussing over getting ready for another one of those dinner parties that she so enjoyed. That gave me an hour to get back to the penthouse, get dressed, and head over to O'Rourke's. Plenty of time. "And I'm jobbing Paris and Louise."

"Paris Gellar-Richmond? The Paris Gellar-Richmond that you proclaimed that you'd never work for again when she kept you up until 3 am planning party details for the ball she was throwing? That Paris Gellar-Richmond?"

I cringed. The memory was _that_ awful. She had driven me mad enough that when I had stumbled back to my bed that night, I had vowed to a worried Logan who'd stayed up waiting for me that I'd _never ever _work for the obsessive compulsive woman again.

"Yes, that Paris."

"Are you loony?"

"I don't know," I muttered glumly.

"I think you are," he insisted. "I mean, did you not say Louise too? I thought the last time you came back from helping her with her kids, you realized why her nannies got paid so much because her kids were little terrors."

"Your words, not mine. They aren't that bad, but they get bad when you put all five of them into the same room at the same time. I mean rambunctious is okay when there's only one, but multiply that five times over and then you've got a _mean_ rambunctious."

"Then why?"

"Money."

Logan growled. "I told you…"

"I know," I interrupted, knowing what this spiel would be about. What he was going to say was that I ought to know that if I ever needed any help at all, he would be there for me. After all, I had no one else but him with my grandparents' and my mother's tragic death. Considering the moneybag he was, I ought to feel free to use him as my personal vault. What he didn't understand was that I hadn't before and I wasn't going to now. It was bad enough that I was forced to live with him. Stupid exorbitant NYC rent. "And I simply won't let you pay for everything for me."

"I don't see why not," he grumbled.

"Because I'm stubborn like that."

"You're a mule."

"Why thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take it as such because that means I'm not a fortune hunting whore like the sluts that are continuously sniffing at your cologne."

He laughed. "You make them sound like dogs."

"You're getting there."

"Bitches."

"Bitches, I see." He laughed. His eyes sparkled. "You make them sound like the worst sort of women in the world. I don't know how you do it, but you make them sound too terrible."

"Did I really make them out to be that bad?" I hadn't thought I'd made them out to be that bad of bitches, royal bitches at them. It was a possibility; my tongue did run away with me when I was with Logan. There was no need to curb it. He would think something was wrong if I didn't speak what was true.

There was a silence that meant he had to be smirking _the _smirk. I had then. My mum would have been disappointed and if she were still alive, she would have lectured me about not saying cruel and callous things about people that I barely knew. My acerbic tongue was a razor that never needed any sharpening.

"What you said just now," he remarked, "wasn't that bad. What you have called them before which only further reneges them to the dishonorable title of bitches and that was bad. Terrible, in fact."

"Thanks."

"You have a talent for complaining." I grimaced. That wasn't a talent I especially wanted. Who wanted to be known as a nagger? "In this case, I wholly agree with you. They are fortune hunting whores that follow where the money is and I am unfortunately one of their targets."

"It's tragic, isn't it?"

"Very."

I giggled. There was a pause. I giggled more. He sighed. "You find this funny?"

"Very."

"Very immature, Rory."

"Perhaps."

"And very childish and you know what they say… children shouldn't pay, adults should," he countered.

My forehead wrinkled with ill grace. Frowns did not become me, and it was very ineffective as he could not see it. Maybe I should have taken him up on the offer to upgrade my phone to the video variety. Even my creative mind could only imagine Huntzberger reactions so far.

"I am only a child sometimes, and the times when I am an adult I will pay for myself. I accept enough charity from you as it is." And I would not accept anymore.

"It isn't charity," he reminded me. "I would live in the penthouse regardless. If you didn't live with me, then there would simply be another empty room. There are enough empty rooms as it is."

"Then invite the homeless."

"You take generosity too far."

"Ah, so there is a limit!"

He chuckled. "There is always a limit, and my limit in bestowing my generosity is only for you."

"Logan…"

There was talking noise in the background, static, some deliberate sighing, an annoying mobile ring, and one annoyed Logan telling whoever it was that had to be scared shitless that he was in no mood to deal with the mess that they had just delivered. "I have to go," he finally said apologetically. "I'll make the reservations to O'Rourke's. Don't be late."

"I won't," I promised, but it was a promise said to air. The phone had clicked off.

-

I was soggy and I was late. The hostess did not look impress with the swamp I was creating as I waited for someone to escort me to the table where Logan Huntzberger was expecting me. I knew that they knew that I knew that they knew where Logan was seated and that the pretense of looking up where he was in their fairly decent size restaurant was an arrogant gesture to show that they really did not think I could possibly be the Huntzberger guest.

"Please follow me, Miss Gilmore, Mr. Huntzberger has been expecting you." I noted the hostess's surprise. It was comical and depressing. I didn't fit into Logan's world, even if I had been his best friend since god knows when. It's been too long. How long? A decade and more.

The familiar sound of tapping fingers greeted me. "You're late," he swirled his wine and then sipped, "and you're wet."

"Stating the obvious?"

"Polite conversation is not a sin."

"Except that you weren't being polite."

He smiled and boy was it beautiful. "How not nice of you to point that out."

"I'm not the one that had etiquette teachers."

"Sit, Rory."

I sat, and then scowled because I had unwittingly listened to him. "I'm starved."

"I assumed you would be, so I went ahead and ordered for you." If it had been anyone but Logan, I would have been outraged. As it was, I smiled. Logan knew what I would eat and what I wouldn't eat. There was no one alive that knew me better than he did. "I take it work didn't go well?"

"No, Paris was not difficult or demanding just exacting and anxious _and _I only carpooled two Louise kids instead of the five that I had previously told you that I thought I would have to."

"Sounds not too bad," he remarked.

"It wasn't."

"What's up with the glorious ensemble you're sporting?" Trust him to notice my lack of suitable clothing. It was wet, that was the first sin. It wasn't fashionable, the second sin. Worst, _the _mother of all sins, it was wrinkled **and** dirty. "Why didn't you give yourself enough time to get dressed up?"

I read the irritation. It was nothing more than the slight tightening of his well formed jaw, but I had spent more than a decade studying his face. He had often told me that I knew him better than anyone in the world _including _his parents. It wasn't hard; I think the Maid knew him better than his parents. But it was _I _that knew him best.

"There was no time."

"You weren't deliberately late then?"

Teeth grit together. It wasn't like I tried to be late to everything; I was by ill luck late to everything. I had bad timing; I knew that, I think everyone knew that. Distractions, whatever they may be, were dangerous as they kept me from getting where I was going on time. I did eventually get there, and what did it matter if I was a bit tardy in doing so?

"No." Hoarse, croaky, and unpleasant and oh how I did feel unpleasant.

"Are you coming down with something?" There's concern. His eyes worried, no doubt precipitated by my wet rat look. There's nothing more tyrannical than Logan Huntzberger when I'm sick. Prison sounded lovely in comparison.

"No, something's in my throat s'all," I answered, quickly and strongly to erase any lingering suspicions. I didn't need to be coddled. Changing subjects had a neat way of changing focuses. "Oh and earlier today, I forgot to mention that I'm working with Madeline."

"Madeline, the single one?"

"Yeah."

"I like her."

"She thinks you're a fine piece of man flesh," I teased. Logan gave me one of his long suffering looks that asked why he put up with me. "I need you to get me up at 6:30."

"Better make it 6."

"I can get there in 30 minutes!"

"You can," he agreed, "if you don't shower and change."

"Bah." He was right. We didn't need to get into another discussion about my untimely self. Needed, desperately, another conversational topic. I was grasping when I saw food. "What did you order?"

"Excuse me?"

"For dinner," I clarified.

"Steak," he answered, "of course."

"Yummy!"

He smirked. "Why don't you say it? I _can_ read your mind."

I coughed.

"I am the all-powerful…"

I rolled my eyes. "The all-powerful nothing."

He kicked my shins from underneath the table. "Hush, you."

-

Author's Note: TBC. Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

**THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
**By Yih

Chapter 3

Escaping pleasant dreams was not my idea of a wakeup call. My mobile was vibrating and if I waited a ring or two the voicemail would pick up. There was a reason though, I hadn't turned it off. Logan was home, he'd driven me home from Madeline's last night. It wasn't that. Oh hell… Marty.

Grab. Flip. "Marty!"

"G'morning."

His cheery voice was on. Something was amiss. "How many times did you call?" I demanded.

"Only a few."

"How many?"

There's a pause. "Do you want me to count how the times I called the landline?" I groaned. "Is that a yes?" I sighed. "7."

"Logan must have been annoyed," I muttered. "How many times did you call the penthouse?"

"3."

The clock blared 8:57. "How long have you been trying?"

"Since 7."

"You're tenacious."

Marty chuckled. "With morning calls and you, I have to be."

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't that late of a weekend dozer. I decided to ignore the gibe. "How was the gig?"

"Exhausting." Now that I was a bit more in tune with everything, I could hear the worn nuance of his voice. It was difficult to imagine Marty tired. He had too much energy; energy enough to make me exhausted thinking about what he'd want to do when he got back. "I think when I get back I want to sleep for a week or two."

That wasn't going to happen. "Oh really?"

"Maybe a day or two," he amended.

That sounded plausible. "So when are you getting back?"

"Tonight."

"Really?" I was excited. He was coming back early. The projected return was Monday morning. Sunday night was an unexpected present. "When? Where do you want to meet? How?"

"Hold up. That was way too many questions." He took a deep breath. "Yes, I really am coming back. Tonight, I've already told you the approximate when. Exactly when? I haven't the faintest idea, depends on the insufferable traffic. I can meet you wherever you want, darling. And how? By train, of course, or did you mean how am I done so early? You really must specify the direction of your questions. I'm finished, that's how."

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to be angry at his nerve, but most of all I wanted to hug his boyish self. "The definition of patronizing."

"How can I be patronizing when you live with Logan Huntzberger?"

Intelligent inquiry. It demanded justification that I could have come up with if I lived with anyone but a Huntzberger. As the penthouse was the definitive Huntzberger, there was nothing to do but to give in gracefully. And grace had very much to do with switching the subject and ignoring any attempts for a switcheroo. "Would you like me to meet you at your flat with some tummy yum-yum?"

"Hmm…" Fake consideration. "I suppose."

"Would you like to give me a time frame?"

"I ought to make you get there an hour early," he muttered. "That way you'll be  
there before I get there with the food."

"I'm not always late!"

"8 to 10?"

"I'll try to be there at 8."

"You'll get there at 9 probably."

"8," I promised.

"I know you'll try your best."

"Don't I always?" I said in my best irresistibly innocent voice.

Marty's sighs were so resigned. "There are times when I feel utterly sorry for the poor sod that you call your best friend and flat-mate, but then I forget about certain things."

"Like what?" Insatiable curiosity that has gotten me in trouble more than once  
triggered the question. My mom was always amused by it; and my grandparents lamented it. My spirits sank. I missed them still and it's been what? Four years?

"That you are Rory Gilmore and there's no one else like you out there," he said heavily, sincerely, fervently. "If you were any other way than what you are, I wouldn't have ever glanced your way."

"I fell onto the stage, which stopped you from staring at your guitarist's ass."

I loved his laugh, it started deep within him and rumbled out. Tingles started from my toes and surged upward. Shivers began at my neck and met the tingles in the middle. "If not for you," his voice was a caress, "I would still be stuck on Lane."

"Is it any better to be stuck on me?"

"It's worse."

"Hey!"

"Joshing you. If I must be stuck on anyone, it has to be you."

How not sweet. "That's very unromantic."

"I'm no knight in shining armor."

"I would hope not." I'm intentionally appalled. "All that metal and iron is quite out of fashion. If Logan saw you wearing such garb, he'd force you to undergo a shopping spree with him."

"I'd rather visit my mom." That was torture indeed. There wasn't a more unpleasant woman that I had the displeasure of meeting than Kirsten Kincaid. At least with Logan's parents, they were the definition of polite and dignified as befit their standards of proper behavior. With Marty's widowed mom, there was no such decorum.

"I don't think a shopping trip with Logan is quite that bad."

"But you're his best friend," Marty mutters. "You aren't a good judge."

I shrug. "I'm his friend not his girlfriend, I'm not that biased."

"Sometimes, I wonder about you two," he remarks. "I've always thought he was more than a friend to you."

"Logan? Logan's like my brother!" To think of Logan as a boyfriend, as anything but a best friend and brother in everything, would be eerie. He's always been there, especially when my mom and grandparents died and he became only family I had left. "No serious relationship at all."

"I wasn't referring to a romantic one, just commenting on the closeness you share. You two enjoy an unusual friendship that has transcended time and any difficulties on the way. It's enviable."

"Jealous, aren't you?" I teased.

"Very much so."

"I miss you, Marty."

"That was random."

"I'm a random sort of girl."

"I know, and I adore you for it. I'll see you tonight, all right?"

I smiled; he couldn't see and I didn't care. I was giddy at the thought of seeing him again, even though we had only been parted for 47 hours, 45 minutes and some seconds. "Anything specifically you want for a late dinner?"

"You."

I giggled. "Be serious."

"I don't care as long as no one in the penthouse tries to cook it."

I pouted. "I don't cook that bad."

"I'm not sure who learned to cook from whom, but both you and Logan are  
horrible." In his tone, a shudder was perceptible. "Order me takeout, I don't care where. You know my stomach isn't picky."

"Chinese?"

"Does that mean eggrolls?"

"Yes, that means eggrolls even if that's very unhealthy."

"You're a health nut."

"I just like my arteries unclogged."

Marty cursed. "Rory, I've got to go. The boys want to get something to eat for breakfast. I'll call you later if…" The line went dead. His offhand mention of breakfast was enough to set my tummy rumbling. But if Logan was cooking, blegh, appetite killer. He did make a mean bit of coffee though and that was worth getting out of bed for. All I needed was to find my darn glasses.

-

Breakfast was a wild success, only because we went to Harry's. While I was happily munching on my kippers, Logan was watching me as he idly mashed his scrambled eggs. Watching him was a mild eating deterrent, but not enough of one to get me to stop chewing.

"This Sunday, no Marty," he mused, "so what are you going to do?"

"Are you busy?"

"I'm always busy."

"Even on Sunday?"

"Even on Sunday," he affirmed.

I pouted. Pouts were effective tools. They were one of my only feminine wiles. Logan invariably fell for it nearly every time, and the only time he didn't were extremely rare situations. "Sunday is fun day."

"Nice play on words."

"I'd rather play with you."

If he'd been eating, I daresay he would have choked. He dropped the fork instead. Logan being clumsy was a big no-no. It never happened ever. I choked instead, surprised as I was by the fork dropping. He slid the water over. "Are you okay?"

I gasped, "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"If you play with me, I am."

There was one blink and then he smiled slowly. "You're manipulative."

"Like you're vain."

He shrugged. "What kind of play do you have in mind?"

"You'll play?"

"Are you giving me an option?"

I clutched his hand. "Of course not!"

"Then I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No you don't."

His fingers rubbed my knuckles. "So what then?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Then maybe I should work."

My fingers tightened over his. "I'll think of something."

"Are you sure?" His eyes were peering into mine with that reading insight that seared into my soul and revealed all to him for his perusal. If it were anyone but him, I would have felt embarrassingly naked. Instead, I felt only a bewildering bare.

"How about a stroll in Central Park?"

"Right now?" Logan's voice was dubious and unwilling. He wasn't a big fan of Mother Nature and neither was I. But Central Park wasn't really nature; there was too much concrete and fat pigeons eating people crumbs for that.

"A nice morning walk would do you wonders."

"I'm not the one that needs to work off the kipper calories."

I scowled and he grinned. "I have an excellent metabolism." His eyes drifted down toward my not so flat stomach. "I'm working on that!" He clucked his tongue like a disapproving mother hen. "I just don't have the time."

"Excuses, and more excuses."

Dropping a twenty, I pulled him to his feet and dragged him reluctantly in the  
direction of pigeon poop and shrieking strollers. "While we walk we can talk," I declared, linking my arm through his. "We haven't really talked in forever."

"I thought that was what we were doing at breakfast," he remarked wryly. "Not to mention what we do everyday."

"Not real deep conversation, but that was mindless argumentative babble. And  
we don't really talk the way I want to talk everyday."

"If you say so."

"You know it's true! There simply is no time."

"We aren't children anymore, Rory."

I sighed. I leaned against him. "Life was much simpler back then."

"I like complications."

"You would," I retorted.

He smiled and threaded his fingers through mine. "It makes life interesting."

"And difficult."

"Such pessimism for an optimist, isn't that?"

My eyes stared at the cracks in the pavement. "I guess, but it's hard to be  
optimistic all the time. I do have my pessimistic moments even though I try to be the more optimistic of us."

"You are the more optimistic one," he corrected, his fingers squeezing mine.

"I suppose." I swung both of our arms with childish glee. I would have liked to skip into the park, but Logan would have mightily objected. "Isn't it beautiful here?"

He wrinkled his nose in a decisive no. "If you like the sight of too many street merchants and an indecent amount of children clinging to mothers, then I guess it might be a pretty picture. But I personally am adverse to the sight of so many people in one place at one time when I have the option of enjoying the luxury of my spacious penthouse in cramped New York City."

"I wouldn't want to live anywhere else, would you?"

"Despite the horrible cramped conditions, I would have to say no," he responded in a prim very Huntzberger tone. "There is no where else I could imagine myself being."

"This is home, isn't it?"

"Yes," he agreed, "this is home."

I spied a vacant bench and pointed like a navigator. "Let's sit."

"I thought the point of this Central Park trip was for us to walk and talk." His voice was overwhelmingly pompous, and if it were anyone but him saying something like that in that kind of tone I would have done something that would have made my mom cringe. But it was Logan and Logan being who he was and I knowing how he tended to be, it was not so hard to overlook his arrogant misgiving.

"We are and we did, but," I gestured at the air over my feet, "I did not wear proper shoes for long distance walking and because of that my feet hurt an extraordinary amount. To recover so that I can walk back, I must sit now."

"Or I could always wave us a taxi and we could head back to the penthouse."

"No," I gestured, "sit down."

He sighed. "So what does your random mind want to talk about?"

"I have no idea." We were sitting, side by side in a position that was reminiscent of how we used to sit on my bed thigh to thigh. "Do you have anything you want to talk about?"

"Not particularly, but I wasn't the one that suggested that we walk and talk," he  
replied blandly. "Is there anything you'd like to discuss?"

"I miss our silly conversations." Suddenly I did, I ached for them. It wasn't as if we were old. By any standard, we were young at 24. Yet we were not as young as we had been, and we were not young enough that wasting time was seen as a necessary divergence instead of a cruel yearning. We might want to squander time, but we knew better than to. "And considering the type of chattering we used to do, we could talk about your love life."

"My lack of one," he amended. "But we could always discuss your thriving one."

I blushed. "Why don't you have a girlfriend?"

His blue eyes stared. "Why does your boyfriend call at an absurdly early hour  
when he knows that you won't be getting up that early unless something dire has happened?"

"He's impatient," I answered without thinking. If I had been thinking, I would waited until he'd answered mine first. This was truly an impairment of mine; I often said things without thinking. Curse my tongue. "Not unlike you."

"Do you really think we're much alike?"

"In some ways, you are."

"What ways?"

I frowned. "I thought I was going to ask you about your love life, instead you're asking me about mine."

"As I said before, I lack one and you did ask me what I'd like to talk about and I've decided I very much would like to talk about your current relationship." Those lips were curved in full smugness. He'd gotten the one up on me again. "So shall we?"

I wanted to say no, but the fact of the mater was I had asked him. "If we must."

"We must."


	4. Chapter 4

**THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
**By Yih

Chapter 4

Yale Note: Trying to write a novel makes keeping a steady job hard. Writing hours are weird. Besides Rory makes pretty nice money for the limited hours she works.

-

"You and Marty are serious, aren't you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's been what, nine months?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Any thoughts of the future and whatnot?"

"Like what?"

"Like getting married and having babies."

I blinked. That was like climbing up to the top floor of a high rise from the ground level that Marty and I were on. "I haven't."

"I think it's heading in that direction."

I didn't. "Why do you think that?"

"He called you three times this morning on my line, and God knows how many times he called you on your mobile."

"He called 7 times in all."

"Don't you think that means something?"

"We didn't talk any on Saturday," I pointed out. "And he merely wanted to let me know when he was getting back. Who knows when he was going to get another free moment? You know how his band mates keep him otherwise occupied."

"He basically lives with us," Logan stated blandly. "I don't think he spends half the time he does in his apartment that he does at our penthouse."

"You're exaggerating."

"The last time the kitchen was really used for cooking, it was Marty that cooked."

That was true, very true, but only because neither of us couldn't stomach the thought of eating anything either of us had cooked. It was takeout all the way when we didn't want the hassle of restaurant waiting. "Marty cooks well, and we don't."

"The point I'm trying to make is," his shoulders tensed and his back straightened even more, "that Marty wouldn't live with us or cook for us unless he was serious about you."

"I don't think he's that serious," I whispered. We were good friends that had decided to get together for the hell of it. If it went well, then it went well. If it didn't, oh well. It was our experimentation. Marty's and mine. "We're a carefree couple."

"You might have once been, but I don't think you are anymore."

"You forget it started as an experiment to see if Marty and I could get together with the opposite sex and make it work. It was weird, our attraction to each other, though it definitely wasn't totally out there. There had been girls before me, and there was a guy before Marty. And…"

"And," he stared at his nails, "there is something there."

"Yeah, there is."

"And you still don't think it's serious?"

"Not marriage happening or baby making serious."

"It's getting there."

I shrugged. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. I'd think about it if it got there. What was the point in worrying about it now? "Who knows?"

"No one." Logan glanced at his Rolex. I knew what time it was. "It's 12:10 and mass starts at 12:30." He smiled apologetically. "Would you like to meet for lunch afterwards?"

"Barney's?"

"Barney's."

-

Barney's was nice. But the ¼ Price Bookstore was wonderful like lunch had been wonderful. Logan was not a fan of used anything. He was complaining, not in words but in attitude. He was almost sneering, but his etiquette lessons on how to always be the model of propriety prevented it. I giggled inside. He diligently carried the finds I found, the basement bargain books, as far away from his person as he possibly could.

"You and books," he uttered with resignation. "You and used books."

"I'm saving my hard earned cash," I muttered. As if he even knew how to be thrifty. He was wearing at least a thousand dollars worth of slacks and a polo shirt. "Those books," I gestured to the pile, "if you bought it new would cost like $40, and I'm getting it for about $10!"

"But they're old."

I sniffed. "But I'm poor."

"If you'd just let me…"

"I don't want you to!"

He sighed. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be the one lugging these books around?"

"He's in Boston."

"I'm the alternate, eh?"

I knew what he was getting at. Logan wanted a damn ego boost. To give or not to give? I needed the ride back if I kept on with the way I was going. It was a long mile or so back. "Nope."

He smirked. "You're using me as labor, that's why you're being so generous with your words."

It was hard to stroke his ego when he could see through my attempts at sycophancy. "You forgot the car you provide," I quipped. Might as well admit the attempt and get him to laugh. Yet Logan didn't laugh enough. "First class in your CL500, it doesn't get much better than that."

He chuckled. "You are quite the user."

"Yup." I piled a few more books on top of the slightly teetering stack. "How many more do you think you can carry?"

"None."

"Logan…"

"A few more."

I grinned. "Good." My eyes shifted to the Classics section. "I've got an entire section to go." He groaned. "And it's my favorite."

Poor Logan, he had thought I was done. What with the stack of books he was  
cradling as far from his person as possible, it must be scary to think that I had only just begun. But Classics were Classics, and it had been ages since I had splurged my hard earned money on books. After putting up with an obsessive complex and bratty kids, I deserved a reward didn't I?

"Rory, it's 6:45."

"Stop bothering me." I was perusing the section like a hunter on a mission. Sometimes back synopses weren't good enough. Sometimes to get a feel for the buying potential of a book, I needed to open it up and read a few paragraphs, and even a few pages. "I'm reading."

"We've been here for almost three hours."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm reading."

The impolite git kicked my shin. I glowered. "I thought you told me you wanted to be on time to Marty's."

I did. I looked at my watch. "It's only 5:45."

"You can't tell time with that stupid watch. It's 6:45." He turned his wrist over in an odd twisted pose that let me see what his watch said, 6:45. Bloody hell. "15 more minutes?"

He sighed. "All right, but don't blame me if you're late getting to Marty's."

-

Seven tulips were lying on the table when I got to Marty's flat. I had brought some takeout, some Italian food that he was fond of, but my mouth began to water when I took in the delicious aroma of Marty cooking. Every time Marty cooked, it was a blessing.

"Darling, I'm so proud you're on time," he declared, slipping out of the small  
kitchen with a quaint apron tied around his waist as he swept me into his eager arms. "Do you like my surprise?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and thought for a moment. I was supposed to arrive here before him, so he had intended on coming back early and hadn't wanted me around while he'd been cooking me a stomach indulging meal. What was the occasion? "Of course, I do," I responded a tad late, and I saw the flicker of bemusement in his eyes. He knew that I didn't have a clue what this was about.

"Aren't girls suppose to be good at knowing the secret purposes behind surprises like they're suppose to know the dates of important events in a relationship?" he teased. He knew I was horrible at remember our anniversaries. His soft lips brushed my cheeks as his arms tightened around me. "Do you want to think about it or would you like me to tell you?"

The seven tulips were a clue. Today was the last Sunday in June. Think Rory, think. The number seven was significant, but for the life of me I didn't know why. We hadn't dated seven months ago, but what else would we be celebrating? "The seven times we've uh… had sex?"

"You're guessing."

"I am," I admitted. "Was I at least close?"

"Somewhat." He kissed my nose and I wiggled restlessly against the confines of his embrace. "I think we've had sex more than seven times."

I groaned. I wasn't close at all. "What do the seven tulips represent?"

"Besides the seven times that I called you this morning?" he joked, holding me  
tighter. I pulled away from his arm length prison and prodded his stomach in a tell me gesture. "Or the seven times that I've thought about you in the last hour?" I smiled. "We've been together nearly nine months, and this is the seventh time that I'll say I love you, Rory."

I was paralyzed. The only times he had said I love you before had been in the euphoria of orgasm. It was hard to believe that it was anything other than an exclamation of the moment type thing. If he was keeping track, and I certainly wasn't--- then it meant more than I thought it had.

"I know I've said it six times when we were making love, but I meant them."  
Marty read me well, almost as well as Logan.

"Are you sure? I still see you staring at Jamie's ass sometimes," I teased.

Marty dropped the plate he'd been holding. It shattered. Odd wasn't the right word. It was bizarre. I wasn't clumsy, and I was far clumsier than Marty was. He had a grace that rivaled Logan's. Mom always said my tongue was scathing. I ought to have reined it in. Jamie was a sore subject. I ought to know. I knew all about it.

"Rory, darling," he whispered hoarsely, "I'm serious."

Fuck. My initial thought had been, yes, he had to be serious. To hear him say it was dreaded confirmation. Love was a sticky issue. It came with all these sort of expectations that were on top of normal couple ones. Was I ready for this? I stared; he stared. Didn't matter, he was and it was there. I could hear my inner Logan telling me told you so. Another complication to my complex life. Were had the simplicity gone?

"I know."

His shoulders tightened. "And?"

"I don't know."

**  
****TBC.****  
**

**A/N**: Let me know what you think. No updates 'til after finals, sometime next week. And those that have reviewed, you don't know how much I appreciate it!


	5. Chapter 5

**THE OBLIVIOUS MODE**  
By Yih

Chapter 5

Sleep was not for the uncertain mind. Resolution was needed. I was not the type that could let sleep take me when matters were unresolved. It bothered me, and I bothered Logan. His dark rimmed eyes were staring in mix ambience between the window and me. His slouchy stance said everything. A Huntzberger did not slouch; a Huntzberger stood straight and tall.

We had discussed what had happened at Marty's apartment through the wee hours of the morning and still hadn't come up with anything. It was after sunrise already and Logan needed to start heading out to work. How he was going to make it through the day, I didn't know. I almost felt bad. I had done this to him, but I needed him and he was there for me like always.

"I need some caffeine," he announced, getting up from where he had been sitting on the lounge chair. "I think you need some too."

Usually, I would be annoyed that someone would assume what I needed and when I needed it. Logan was the exception. He had always been the exception. It had only grown more pronounced after my parents had died. He had been my rock. If he hadn't

been there, what would have happened to me?

Right now, I was going to be seriously drained unless I got enough caffeine pumped into my system. I couldn't afford to miss a day. My mobile had vibrated a few times at Marty's. I prayed that there was a job for me and something that wasn't too unpleasant. Whenever there was work, I had to take it. Who knew when someone would offer again?

Unsteady work was the bane of my existence, well the monetary bane of my existence. The true blight in my life was whether or not I could finish a manuscript that wasn't all over the place. Then there was the decency factor to consider, another issue that was going to crush my ambition of getting into the world of the published. Stacked up against all that, how could I possibly succeed?

And then there was Marty…

The whining sound of the coffee grinder reminded me of the salvation that was coming. There was no way I was going to make it through the day without a double dose of the strongest, blackest coffee Logan could make. When he held it out to me, I grasped for it like I was dying of thirst.

"Slow down," I was guzzling fast, "you'll choke." I did. "Silly girl," he clucked like a mother hen, "you never listen to me when you should." I listened to him more times than I can even begin to count _in a single day. _I didn't even want to think about the number in a week. Sheer atrocity.

"More," I pleaded hoarsely. "Need more."

He poured more. "You're going to be wired."

I downed the second serving. It was the second shot that got my brain functioning again. It had been over an hour since I had been able to utter words that made any sense whatsoever. "So are you," I retorted, gesturing to the second cup that he was working diligently on. "You haven't got my tolerance."

He rolled his eyes. Instead of arguing on a pointless point, he switched gears with the fine handiwork of a master mechanic. "We still need to resolve the Marty issue."

It wasn't really a Marty issue. It was just easier to refer to it as such. To be honest, it was more of an issue of me dealing with the scary impact of love. Was I ready for the next step? Or more importantly, was I ready to love someone that could end up hurting me in the end?

"We talked all night and we've reached no resolution. We can't get this matter tidily put up in the hour or so that we need to start getting on with our working day." What a waste the night had been. "We have to shower, get dress, and you have to get to the office. I need to check my messages and pray there's a nice job for me."

"We were getting there. We'll talk at lunch," he insisted. "Stop by my office. We need to have this worked out before you see Marty again, and you will see him tonight. He won't let this matter rest. He has not the patience for that."

"Like you," I mused.

"Like me," he agreed.

-

The morning was spent twiddling my thumbs and ignoring Marty. I could not call him back. Not yet, not when I didn't have a clue what to say or how to say it. It was easier focusing on work. Except it turned out there was no work. The vibrated messages had turned out to be some stupid advertisements for stupid telemarketers that insisted on wasting my precious minutes with their stupid prattle. There was nothing to do except to wait for lunch and the inevitable talk I would have with Logan.

What more could be said on the subject that hadn't been said before?

_Nothing_, I thought. Logan was going to enjoy proving me wrong. I dreaded what he was going to say. Parts of me doubted that he would encourage me to hurt my heart again. He didn't like Marty. Marty didn't like him. But Logan loved me, _loves me_, and I liked Marty. He would do what was right.

_Your fear is superficial, _Logan had said last night. Perhaps and perhaps not.

Lunching with Logan was going to be quite the event.

"You're late," he stated as I breezed into his posh office carrying takeout from the Lucky Dragon restaurant that was on the way from penthouse to Huntzberger Tower. "Chinese again?"

"So?" I retorted. "It's good stuff." I dug out the cute takeout boxes and shoved it toward him with chopsticks and condiments. "Think of how much oil is in the eggrolls and shrimp balls and noodles!"

"You did get some food stuff that isn't fried, didn't you?"

"Nope."

He rolled his eyes and took the carton and opened it. He wrinkled his nose as he saw the greasy fast food. "I don't see why you couldn't have just gotten me a salad at the bistro that's across the street."

"That's too healthy."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a bad thing?"

"You're eating grass."

"I happen to like eating grass."

I glared. "Some unhealthy fast food isn't going to kill you."

"Not now, but it will later," he predicted with severe solemnity. Gingerly he took some chopsticks. He held the twin sticks with effortless grace. I had always wondered if his etiquette lessons on eating had included chopstick usage or if he was naturally this gifted.

"Would you like some shrimp balls?" I offered my carton. "It's the sweet and sour sauce variety that you like." He nodded. I dumped a ball into his carton and took an eggroll out of his. "Isn't this good?"

"Hmmm…" that was Logan speak for an ecstatic yes, "would you like to talk about the Marty issue?"

The initial chitchat had been a vain hope that he would forget about the Marty issue. I wanted to not think about it, but I knew that even if I wanted everything to go back to being the same--- they wouldn't. They couldn't. I had hoped the fried food would have been a distraction, but Logan was all business as usual.

"Not really," I mumbled.

His eyes peered into mine. "You need to."

I sighed. "I know."

"Your relationship is moving to the next stage."

"I just want things to stay the same."

"Nothing is ever in stasis, Rory."

I stuffed my mouth.

"You can't ignore it."

I took a gulp of hot tea.

"He loves you."

I choked.

"Are you okay?"

I gasped and nodded.

"What are you going to do about Marty?"

I breathed slowly. "What do you think I should do?"

"Dump him." I blinked. "I don't like him." I rolled my eyes and he smirked. "I'm serious."

"You're jealous."

"I am," he admitted freely, not looking the least bit abashed. "I'm not good at sharing." He shrugged. "I hated when others touch my stuff."

"I touch your stuff," I pointed out.

He gave me a look that said everything. Like he was with me, I was his exception.

"Seriously," I pleaded, "what should I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed. "If I knew, do you think I'd be so confused?"

"I think if you really didn't want Marty, you'd know. I think you want him and that you're afraid of commitment or some bullshit reason like that, which is why you're stuck in this no man's land."

"I'm a woman."

"No woman's land then, Miss English."

"I'm not afraid of commitment," I stated carefully. "If I was, I wouldn't have

dated Marty in the first place."

"You're scared of something and that's making you indecisive. When you're uncertain, you get all confused." His logic rang a bell. Logan knew me too well. "I've been thinking through the morning, and I think I know what you're really afraid of."

"What?" I asked challengingly. "What am I afraid of?"

"I was wrong earlier, saying that your fear was superficial." His eyes seared mine. "It's not shallow at all. You're afraid of loving someone and losing them."

There was nothing in my mouth. I didn't choke, but I did blink crazily. Then I

started shaking my head most fiercely, trying to deny what was undeniable. I bit my lip. Was Logan right?

"Aren't you supposed to be the risk taker?"

"I'll bungee jump."

"You'll risk physical injury, but not emotional harm?"

To put it in a nutshell… "Yup."

"Rory," he sighed most extravagantly even for a Huntzberger, "you can't even make a business profit without taking a risk, and I would say finding love is much harder than making money."

"And you are such a risk taker."

"If need be."

"Which is?"

"When needed."

I glared with a noodle filled mouth and then swallowed. "Like never. You aren't

even dating anyone! So where is the risk you're putting your heart in?"

"Don't change the subject," he lectured with the command of someone who was

never disobeyed. "We're talking about you and Marty, not my love life." He tilted my chin up 'til my eyes met his. "I think, Rory, you could love him. The question is if you'll let yourself be vulnerable as you'll need to be to love him?"

My eyes drifted downward. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to face Logan's question. I wasn't ready to have someone loving me like that. I definitely wasn't ready to love anyone. I think most girls would have jumped at the chance of having someone like Marty admitting his love. He was very nearly perfect. Tall, good-looking, rich voice, sensitive and caring with the cooking skills envied by women that didn't know one of end of the kitchen from the other and the only imperfection that I saw was his tendency to be demanding.

But I was used to demanding. Logan was demanding, and Marty was on par with Logan. It was something I could live with. Live with… was I really thinking in that direction? I wrung my fingers. I don't know. What did I know? Nothing. I was a blank slate. I knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Look at me Rory."

I lifted my eyes.

"Do you like Marty?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Do you want to be with him?"

I nodded.

"Then why did you run away last night?"

"Because I was scared."

"Of what?"

He was digging deep intentionally. "Love."

"Is love such a scary thing?"

It sounded absurd when put to question. What a thing to be afraid of, _love_. It was

not a normal fear like a serial killer or biological warfare or AIDs, all of which involved dying. Death was a typical fear, and love? Love was not. But I had never been typical and I was afraid of love like others were afraid of death.

"Are you scared of love?"

I blinked. It was a struggle to answer: "_Yes_."

His eyes bore into mine. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

I broke the stare. "I'm afraid to get hurt."

"That's an understandable fear." I stared at his fingertips. "It's never easy when a relationship starts changing." He was speaking from experience, I knew. "As hard as this is for you, you have to know that it's harder on him."

"You don't like Marty."

"But I know how he feels right now." I scrutinized my own un-manicured nails vs. Logan's. "You've got to go back to talk to him. I bet he's called, hasn't he? No, I know he's called. If he calls 7 times just to tell you when he's coming back, then he's called already." I picked at some dried skin. "Have you called him back?"

"No."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I don't know what to say."

"You can't keep ignoring him." I nibbled my nails. "Stop that, Rory. That's

disgusting." I stopped. "You have to talk to him today. Wait, better make that now. After lunch, you'll talk to him. Tell him that you're scared, and I bet he is too. I don't think you're going to get any more resolved on this until you've talked to him."

I trembled. "Do I have to?"

"Rory." His tone demanded my eyes locked onto his. "You do."

And so I did.

TBC…

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, and all my lovely reviewers thank you so much! You guys are what keep me going. Does anyone want me to continue my other fic, "Somebody" or would you rather me just concentrate on TOM?


	6. Chapter 6

THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
By Yih

Sorry, this is the correct chapter. I clicked on the wrong file name and didn't even check.

Chapter 6

Marty wasn't answering. I was holding my breath. The phone was ringing. It was on the third ring. Another and his answering machine would pick. _Pick up, please pick up_, I prayed. It had taken me a good hour to work up the nerve to call. If he didn't pick up now, who knew when my nerve would return?

"Rory?"

I sighed, relieved. "Yes, Marty."

"Are you okay?"

I felt bad. "I'm fine," I lied.

Suffocating pause. "Why did you run?"

Marty was ever to the point. "I don't know."

I heard him take a breath. "Why are you scared?"

"I'm n…"

"Rory…"

"Love is terrifying."

There was no sound out of him.

"I'm afraid of it."

"Don't you think I'm scared too?"

That's what Logan had mentioned. Marty had to be frightened if I was. I was just too busy being self absorbed to think of anyone but myself. I was selfish, utterly selfish. Instead of answering the question, I shifted the focal point by saying, "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I."

I said nothing.

He sighed, dreadfully. "You ran to Logan last night, didn't you?"

"I live with him."

"Even if you didn't," Marty murmured, "he would still be the one you run to."

I was confused. What was he getting at? "Well, he is my best friend."

"He's more than that."

Was Logan? Yes, he had become my family. "I suppose so."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course."

"Do you love me?"

I trembled. "That's what I'm scared of."

"So you don't then," he stated with a dead voice. The moment of silence

afterwards was deafening. "Rory?"

"Yes?" I was relieved he hadn't disconnected the line.

"Could you love me?"

Logan thought I could. But did I? "I don't know." It was an honest answer; it was a terrible answer. Our relationship had been nine months and counting, couples got engaged in less and all Marty was asking was if I could love him. And I honestly didn't know. I despised vulnerability and that was what love took.

I wished I could see his face to judge superficially how bad I was doing and how close I was to screwing things beyond repair. It would be just like me to do something stupid like that. I couldn't ever keep my words to myself when it was necessary. I said too much too often.

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't."

"I should have known." He should have known? Should have known what? What should he have known? If only I could see his face… Then maybe I would know what he should have known. "This isn't working, is it?"

"It's not?" I croaked. I was asking a rhetorical question. I knew what he meant. I didn't need an explanation. But the thing is… I wanted one. I wanted something. I was a greedy bitch.

"You and me."

"I…"

"You don't love me," his voice was emotionless, "and you aren't sure if you ever

can. What am I suppose to do, Rory? Wait for you to love me while I languish in love with you?" When he put it like that, the answer was a definite no. "Things won't work like that. Especially when you…" he stopped abruptly. "It won't work."

"No, it won't," I agreed softly, feeling crushed. "I…"

"We'll still be friend," he reassured me. "It's not your fault that you can't love

me."

"Marty…"

"You don't have to say anything," he abruptly cut me off. "I know. You aren't ready. It's all come suddenly, but it hasn't been that sudden at all. It's been nine months. We should be further than we are, but you aren't ready to take that next step yet and I can't keep waiting. I'm hanging my heart on my sleeve for you and all you had to do was take it. You can't, and I can't keep waiting."

"I do care for you Marty."

I could feel him smile that lovely smile of his. "I know you do. We were friends

before we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and I don't think you ever really got much more beyond that."

I laughed. "What about the sex?" I had to grin. "Doesn't that count as far beyond friends?"

He chuckled. "We did get there."

"Many times," I inserted.

"There is such a thing as friends with benefit."

The reality set in. We were only friends. It was a blow. Was that what I wanted? I lost my breath. But I wasn't ready for anything else. I breathed. "We were more than that," I whispered.

"We were," he agreed.

"So is that it?"

"Unless you can take the next step, yes it is."

I couldn't. That was it then. How depressing.

-

The night was still young. And I felt as old as the miscellaneous antique baubles that were scattered around the penthouse. My bones creaked and cracked as an old crone's should. As worn and weary as my body felt, it was the weight of my soul that made me feel more than the age of my years.

A heavy arm fell upon my shoulders, it was Logan. "You look gloomy."

"I feel gloomy."

"Marty?"

"Yes." To even say it was lifting a heavy load. "Marty."

"Would he not wait then?" Logan knew then. He could guess. It was rather

obvious, I suppose. I wasn't happy. I wouldn't be unhappy if things were resolved. Au contraire, I'd be quite happy. "Until you were ready?"

"He couldn't."

Logan snorted. He was my friend, my best friend first. His loyalty was

unquestionably mine. I smiled. Loyal to the very end, he would be. Without him, life would be unbearable. Life without Marty would be hard but not impossible. I could live without him, but without Logan--- I didn't even want to ponder that.

"Some boy in love," he muttered derisively. "If he was, he'd wait."

"He asked if I could love him."

Logan's eyes were on mine.

"I said I didn't know."

"Rory…"

"I don't," I stated firmly. "I don't know if I could love him. I know I don't love

him now, and I don't know if in a few months that would change. I wasn't lying, Logan, I wasn't. I was telling the truth. You know _I only speak what is true_."

He laughed hoarsely. "Then why, tell me why, are you so sad if you don't feel something deep… something that's almost love then?"

He had a point. I was sad, but it was a shallow sadness that didn't bury deeply like my parents' death. Nothing could reach that, I daresay. I knew this sadness would be with me for a while. I had cared for Marty. Cared for him as much as I could allow myself to care for anyone thus far, but it wasn't enough. I knew Marty had a point. I couldn't ask him to love me when I didn't know if I could even love him.

"It's a sadness that will linger a little then leave."

Logan studied me carefully; I felt his eyes loitering on my face. "Are you certain?"

"I am."

He held me tightly, hugging me tightly. "I'm sorry."

I snuggled closer. "For what?"

He pressed his forehead against mine. "Was it because of me?"

"Why…"

"I wasn't supportive," he interrupted. "I could have been, and I kept tearing you apart when the two of you wanted to be together. If I were Marty, I would have been furious with me."

"He knows how important you are to me."

"Still…"

"It wasn't your fault," I cut him off. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. It was my fault. I don't love him. He was a friend that I cared about deeply. We got to another level, but I can't go that next step with him. He was right. It wasn't going to work, him loving me and me not loving him."

"Time though…"

"It's been nine months, Logan. I would have fallen a little in love with him in that time if I were going to," I murmured. "He was wonderful and I didn't. I don't know why. Most girls would trade spaces with me in a nanosecond."

"You," he kissed my forehead, "are," he pinched my nose, "not most girls."

I jabbed his stomach. "I know."

"I'm glad you're not."

I rolled my eyes. "You're just happy that I'm not with him anymore."

"Of course," he drawled, "I never liked the guy _much_."

TBC…

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, and your reviews have been great! Anyway, don't you just love Logan? And bye-bye to Marty finally, but I couldn't make things too easy on L/R, there had to be some conflict and now when they get together, Rory has something to compare their relationship to, and a functional relationship at that. At some pt. Finn and Colin will appear. It's just I've been focused on the whole M/R getting broken up in a believable way.


	7. Chapter 7

THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
By Yih

Chapter 7

"Why can't I fall in love?"

The Marty issue was still bothering me. It had been a few days later, but not enough of a time gap for me to forget about it. It was still too soon. Much too soon as was indicated by the fact that Marty still had not bothered to contact me. We hadn't kept this little contact in the past year or so that we had known each other. If I was bothered, he must be hurting.

"Why do you want to fall in love?" Logan countered.

Typical of him to be his difficult self when I want a straight answer out of him. I couldn't even ask a question without him launching an opposing question. Bah humbug. Luckily it was Thursday evening and I was about to be fed wonderfully by whatever Logan deemed suitable for our dinner tonight.

I'd gone to work for Louise the Glorious Baby-Making Machine again and had escaped the children's playroom with my mind still intact. I swear, if I had had more than two kids, someone needed to remind me of my days of babysitting Louise's hoard. That would do it. I'd scream bloody murder.

"Doesn't everyone want to fall in love?" I retorted.

"I think love is overrated."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.

"Don't you think it is? I mean, love equating to happiness? Ridiculous."

I was gasping. "You aren't serious!" I exclaimed. "You did not just say that love is overrated _and_ ridiculous."

He blinked, looking quite solemn. "And what if I did?"

"LOGAN HUNTZBERGER!"

I heard a chuckle. It was faint, but it was distinct. "Are you joking?"

He gave me _the _look.

"You are!" I shrieked. "You are a horrible little boy!"

The look turned into a full fledged glower. "I'm going to protest the little and the boy comments. I am neither little," he drew up to his full height an oh-so-towering 5'11", "nor am I a boy."

I did have to crank my neck a bit to look at him. I was a mere 5'4". "But not the horrible?"

He smirked. "I am horrible."

"How charming."

"I know."

"Seriously," I decided to ignore his enormous ego, "you do think that everyone wants to fall in love?"

"I think," he began softly and sincerely, "that everyone at one point in their lives

wants to fall in love."

"Then why do you ask why do I want to fall in love?"

"Because why are you bemoaning why you can't fall in love when you had the

perfect chance with Marty?"

Ouch. It was another reminder of what a great guy Marty was, that even Logan

was willing to admit it even if he didn't like the guy. But… I didn't love Marty. I knew that like I knew I was going to breathe even if I wasn't trying to. "You can't force love. It just… happens. I guess."

"You can't," he murmured. "I agree."

There was an intensity I didn't understand. Logan was a mystery unto himself. "When's dinner?"

"Whenever it comes," he responded.

"I'm hungry." I was a whiner when I was hungry. I'm not ashamed to admit it either, so there! "I want to eat."

"Don't we all."

-

I was sated. Whoever said food was overrated had never met half the chefs that Logan did dinner business with. I had eaten a fantastic meal that was guaranteed to put fat on my tummy unless I managed to coerce myself onto the treadmill. Just thinking about jogging, even slow jogging that was not any faster than fast paced walking had me nauseous. But if I kept eating like this and not exercising, soon I wouldn't be able to get my pants anymore.

"Hungry anymore?"

I shot him a _I can't believe you're asking me that_ look.

"You did eat quite a deal," he commented. "You put away the seaweed seafood salad, had second helpings of the lemon grilled chicken, and tuck in the Dutch chocolate cheesecake."

Logan knew how to make me feel bad about what I'd just stuffed into my stomach. I still couldn't believe I'd eaten that much. What was even sadder was that he'd left out the side dishes like the mashed potatoes, the buttered corn, and stir fried mixed oriental veggies I was so fond of. Add that to the list above and I really did need to get my ass onto the running machine.

"Thanks for reminding me."

He patted my stomach patronizingly. "Someone needs to or you'd eat even more."

"I have a healthy appetite," I muttered defensively.

"You eat like a pig," he remarked fondly.

"You really know how to flatter a girl."

Trademark Huntzberger smirk. He ought to get it copyrighted. "The treadmill's in the next room calling for you." I scowled. "It's crying, _Rory Gilmore come run on me. Rory Gilmore, you get your ass over here._" He was going far too far. He better thank the God up there that I wasn't as weight preoccupied as he was. If I turned his insults back at him, he'd be reduced to a girly wail of indignation. If he wouldn't take it, why ever did he think I would?

"Logan…"

"Rory…"

"I really hate you."

"You really love me," he contradicted.

My eyes rolled skyward. Appropriate as there was a skylight. "Logan, would you like me to poke fun at your weight?" His expression was neutral. "Then don't make fun of mine!"

"I wasn't making fun of your weight," he phrased carefully. "I was only trying to encourage you to exercise. You really should exercise a few times a week for at last half an hour, which you don't. If I have to make fun of your weight to get you to sweat yourself into a healthy body, I'll do it."

I felt like a petulant child. Here Logan was only concerned about my welfare and I was snappy at him for it. Pooh-bah. I still wasn't willing to let go of the nagging intuition he had been teasing me about my possible weight gain if all I did was eat, sit, and eat, sit again. And… yet I couldn't deny that he was right.

"Are you going to exercise tonight?"

I was so stuffed; I didn't think I could move. He was asking me this now? Maybe if he asked an hour or so or maybe tomorrow when I felt I _could _move, then maybe I'd be up for the questionable suggestion. I definitely wasn't up for it anytime soon. All I wanted was to sit on the coach, be a dent in it, and watch some mindless reality TV.

"Rory?"

"Oh fine, I'll go run on the bloody treadmill when I don't feel utterly stuffed."

"Good." He grinned. "I'll come get you in an hour then."

Boo.

-

We started at nine and we ended at ten. It felt like a good time to just plop myself down on the floor and never get up again. There were two big problems with that plan though. (1) I was thirsty as hell and (2) I would have asked Logan for some but I was still gasping for oxygen that my lungs were desperately deprived of.

I told myself I was going to get some water, but my legs gave out from under me and I sank to the ground like I was meant to join it. My eyes rolled back into my head and I felt every other cell in me screaming for water that wasn't screaming for air. And at any second, I knew that Logan was going to yell at me to get to my feet unless I wanted my muscles to cramp horribly.

At this moment in time, I could care less about cramping. Cramping seemed like an excellent alternative if it meant I could let my limbs rest on the floor and not have to move them forever. Now if only Logan would be a dear and sense my need for water…

Water splashed on me. "Going to get up?" I opened my eyes to see Logan

shadowing me. "Don't you want some water?" He shook the Dasani bottle. He was asking a very dumb question. "If you want some, you're going to have to give up."

Bastard. He was no angel. Hell's spawn, surely, to deny me the water I sorely needed? "This is for your own good," he continued in that _I know what's best for you _voice that I really despised at times like these. "If you don't get up, your muscles will cramp badly."

God, I wanted that water. I raised an arm up, trying to grab at it. With me ground prone, Logan easily avoided my hand. "Get up Rory," his voice was commanding. Drat it, I was going to have to get up. When he got that sort of tone going on, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Now Rory!"

I was up. Man, _ow_, he, _ah_, was, _fuck_, right. My muscles were cramped, and boy did they hurt. I grimaced. If he laughed, if he joked, if he made any _I'm right _statements I was going to… cry.

Peering at him cautiously, he did none of the three. He merely handed me the water bottle and encouragingly gestured for me to drink it up. Bless his bossy soul. I gulped the H2O down. Sweet deliverance. Water was the drink of revitalization. My cells were totally agreeing.

"Feel better?"

I took a huge gulp of air. "Much."

"So how about the mile cool down then?" He wanted a cool down after I'd just run my ass off for 45 minutes? Was he freaking crazy? I gave him a disbelieving look. "It's good to cool down," he continued as if he hadn't seen my revolted expression. "It gets the muscles all nice and happy."

What made him think that I cared about how my muscle felt? "I am not cooling down by running a mile," I snapped. "I'm exhausted."

He gave mea reproving look, but I could tell from his relaxed stance that he was

going to push the issue. At least he knew his limits on what he could get me to do. He did hold quite a bit of power over me, but there were boundaries that I wouldn't cross. After running nearly four miles, I wasn't about to run another one.

"Spoilsport," he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. Yes, deciding _not _to run another mile was being a spoilsport. Logan's logic doesn't make sense sometimes. Then again, I can't really complain about his when mine doesn't either. I wonder who rubbed off on whom? "Are you going to cool off or are you just going to stand there?"

He huffed and started the treadmill on jogging mode. What to do… what to do… but watch?

TBC…

**A/N:** It's my birthday, so review and let me know what you think please? It'd be a nice present. Oh, btw, it's starting, slowly but surely to be R/L, but it was always there, Rory's just oblivious.


	8. Chapter 8

THE OBLIVIOUS MODE

By Yih

Chapter 8

It was close to midnight. There was nothing on TV to watch anymore other than insipid reruns that should never have been reborn. While there were some movies, they were all of the very bad variety. They were the type of movies that were so bad that they could only play at an ungodly hour lest they should hurt the eyes. Logan mercifully zapped the TV off.

I stared at him. He stared back. "So…"

"Yeah?"

"Are you tired?" I asked.

"Nope."

I sighed. "Tomorrow's Friday."

"Today's Friday," he corrected, nodding his head toward the clock that just

started to chime midnight. He smirked. "Forgetting your days?"

"It hadn't turned midnight yet when I said it was Friday."

"Excuses, excuses…"

I pressed my lips together tightly. I was going to ask him if he wanted to do

anything tomorrow--- I mean today with me, but if he was going to be difficult like that maybe it was better if I didn't ask. So there, Logan.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

I swear, he can read my bloody mind. "No."

"Do you want to do something then?"

Yup, read my mind. "Maybe."

"We don't have to do anything if you'd rather do something else with someone else."

Hmmph. He was giving me an out. Problem was, he knew that I didn't want an out. He was doing this to make me confirm verbally that I did want to hang out with him. That there was no one else I'd rather spend my Friday night than with him. This was going to be another addition to his already immense ego.

"Well?"

"I do want to do something."

"Good." He grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"What do you want to do?"

He grinned. "What would _you_ like to do?"

Anything, I almost said. Almost being a key word as there were things that I probably didn't want to do with Logan. If I said anything, I had a feeling he'd drag me to do something that I might end up enjoying but would undoubtedly leave me sore and tired. Logan might not look like the adventurous outdoor type, but he did do some daredevil things. I was more of a homebody, though he was almost one too.

"Um…" on the topic of being a homebody, what could we do at home? "Want to

rent some movies and eat loads of buttered popcorn?"

"No." The smile on his face was positively gorgeous. "We do that often enough that I'd like to do something different." Okay, that was a reasonable answer. We did do movie nights a bit much. Not as often as we had before, but often enough that it could be tiresome. As long as there was no traveling, I was all right with whatever. "Let's go somewhere."

Poop. I was hoping that traveling wasn't in the agenda. "Where could we go

when we only have two days and two nights?" I asked, feeling quite logical. "We can't really go anywhere."

"We have three days and three nights," Logan corrected. "I can take Friday off, and if needed I can take Monday off. I'll just have to work my ass off when I get back though, but all work can be put off for a time period and this is as good of a time as any."

My time argument went down the sewer. "What if I don't want to go anywhere?"

"Not even London?"

I perked up. Damn him for knowing my city weakness. The only other city I was weak on was maybe Paris. But who could resist the sexiness of the French? "But that's a 7 hour flight, and we don't have tickets."

"Rory," his voice was patronizing, "I can get tickets if I want them. You know that's not a problem."

Of course, he could exert his Huntzberger superiority over mere mortals and get

them to bend to his will. Why was I forgetting this? A Huntzberger could do whatever he

wanted whenever he wanted. What he wanted he got. "Logan, you are not going to displace some couple off their flight because you want to go to London on a last minute whim!"

There was an innocent _what did I do _expression on his face. "Who said I was going to displace anyone? I could always charter a private jet."

Outrageous expense! "What? You're going to waste that much money?" I sputtered. "Logan! Don't!"

"I am, and I will if I can't find a flight that leaves sometime before 9 a.m. with

two free seats," he declared in an unbreakable manner. "It's not as if I don't have the cash flow to do this, Rory. I earn quite a bit from my job, and I work hard for it."

He did. I'll give him that. He wasn't freeloading off his parents. He did work hard for the money that was his salary. Some of the rich had unbelievable work ethics. No wonder they were filthy rich. Yet not matter how much money he earned, he had no right to waste it on me.

"Even if you do earn _quite a bit_ from your job, it's still no excuse to spend it on me," I grumbled.

"You know most girls would be ecstatic I was spending a large quantity of money on them," he remarked glibly. "But what makes you think I'm only spending the money on you? I'm riding first class, but you? You can ride in coach."

Nice threat, Logan, but I knew him and that kind of threat wasn't going to work on me. If he was cheap about anything (which he wasn't), he had been drilled from birth by his parents to be the consummate gentleman. If there was a first class and a coach ticket, he'd be riding coach and I'd be in first class. I smiled instead like I believed him.

"Stop complaining," he muttered, reading my smile for what it was, "and just be happy that I'm taking you to London."

"You still haven't gotten the tickets yet," I pointed out.

"Do you doubt that I can pull this off?"

I didn't doubt that he could, but… "Yeah." I liked being difficult.

-

"The arrival time expected at Heathrow is 11:51 pm…"

It was 12:36 and I was staring in mini-horror at the king size bed that Logan and I were going to have to share. According to the receptionist, there was no other room in the ritzy hotel that had double beds. As I refused to have Logan pay for another ostentatiously priced room, I decided to make due with the shared sleeping space scenario.

"Right or left?"

I stared at him. "What?"

He pointed to the bed. "Do you want the right or left side?"

"Uh…" I stared at the bed, "I…" very uncertain, "don't care."

"I should order more pillows and another comforter," he commented. I gave him a quizzical look that asked _why._ He smirked. I wasn't going to like his explanation. "You kick. The pillows are to protect me," he remarked. "And the extra comforter is because you hog everything, you greedy bitch." Yup, knew it. Didn't like the explanation.

"No, I don't!" I denied, though not very vehemently. I did kick, and I was greedy with the blankets.

He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Oh?" He licked his lips. "I would disagree most stringently. I remember that time when I had you spend the night when we were little kids; you took my comforter _and _kicked me in the stomach!"

Eh, well such was life.

"Right."

"What?"

"I want the right."

"Okay."

I hopped onto my side. He slid into his. I snagged all the pillows. He glanced at the pillows I was currently hoarding. I pouted. He frowned. I threw one pillow at him. "Go to sleep," I commanded.

"Bossy."

"For your own good," I retorted. "Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

"Oh really?"

"Uh huh." I had planned everything I wanted to see and it was a lot. A ton.

-

The Tower of London was chilling. I had a wonderful time. It was far better than the rest of the tourist sites we'd seen. Logan, on the other hand, didn't seem to enjoy traipsing around prison cell to prison cell being told by a guide where those that were beheaded once lived the last days of their lives. But he didn't complain, and I reveled in the history.

"Had enough of blood and guts and more bloody tales?" he asked when we reached the end of the tour. "Or would you like to go in one more and hear the guide tell the same story with even more gory details?"

I poked his stomach.

"What?"

"That's a waste of money."

"Well considering how much you enjoyed the first go round," he muttered. "I assume the second time around you'd still enjoy it."

I rolled my eyes. "I've seen it once, and besides there's Madame Tussaud's to go to." Impish grin. "Think of me standing next to Prince William." The exaggerated sigh out of me caused Logan to grit his teeth. "And you'd be a dear and take a picture, wouldn't you?"

"I still don't see," he grumbled, "what the big deal about some heir to a throne that supposedly looks good. If he wasn't a prince, he wouldn't even be considered that handsome."

"Jealous much?" I teased.

"Nothing to be jealous of," he retorted. "Marty has more handsomely attributes in a bone of his body than Prince William whatever-many-names Windsor has in his entire being."

I laughed. He was slightly jealous, but not much. He was more disgusted than anything. He was even saying Marty's name with a positive air and that was unusual. Actually, Logan had made an overwhelming point not to mention his name at all. He knew that even if I had been the one to end the relationship, I was still smarting over it. While it hadn't been nearly as seriously or as emotionally involved as Marty's part, I still felt bad.

"Egh," Logan mumbled, "I shouldn't have mentioned him. Sorry."

I took a deep breath and smiled. "Marty is more handsome than Prince William, I'll have to agree. Not that he would care either way what is said, his Kincaid ego is nothing compared to your Huntzberger arrogance."

"Does he even have an ego?"

"He does, a musical one."

"Ah, that would make sense." He chuckled. "So Madame Toussaud's wax museum is your next request, is it?"

"It is."

He offered his arm. "Then shall we go?"

I took it.

-

"Where to now?" I asked.

I had taken enough photos at Madame Toussaud's to fill a few albums to Logan's disgust. I had posed so many times; I was tired and ready to leave. I'm sure he was in complete agreement, considering he'd done the picture taking. The relieved expression on his face said everything.

"Anywhere."

"Anywhere?" I stated with a calculating tone.

He quickly amended his declaration, "Anywhere but another museum or spot like

that. I've had enough of site seeing."

I stuck my tongue out. "You're a bad tourist."

"I never said I was a good tourist."

I sighed. "True."

"So where to?"

I glanced at him carefully. Logan did look a bit worn out. I felt tired, but I could work past the tiredness because who knew when I'd be back in London? It wasn't as if I had the money to come here like the whim that had gotten me here in the first place. It might be a very long, long time before I ever came back. Two days was hardly enough time. Four would have been better, but the flying to and fro took up too many hours. But I knew Logan needed the rest. He didn't operate very well when he was exhausted. He tended to get grumpy then sick. And a sick Logan was a very bad thing.

"How about the hotel?"

Happy Logan smile. "Finally."

-

I closed my eyes. Logan stood behind me. Like Wendy, I wished that I might open the window and with the aid of fairy dust be able to fly by thinking of happy thoughts. It was a silly thought. It wasn't entirely random though. The tall townhouses I had seen on the cab back to the hotel reminded me of where I imagined Wendy growing up _and_ I was standing by a tall window looking out at the London skyline.

"Did you have fun tonight at all the museums and Tower?"

"Mmm hmm."

He placed his hands on my shoulders. "What are thinking about?"

"Flying."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"Flying to where?"

"Neverland."

He chuckled softly. "The land of eternal youth."

"Yes."

"And where adult problems don't plague you."

"Yes."

"London reminds you of that?" he inquired. "Of your childhood?"

"The townhouses and window do." I paused. "But London does too."

"You grew up here a bit when you were a little girl, it's not surprising."

I smiled wistfully, turning to face him. "For two years."

"Still two years is a bit of time to have memories."

"I haven't been here since I was 5," I murmured. "I don't have many memories."

He brushed his lips against my cheek. "But you've made more."

"I have," I agreed. "Thanks to you." I impulsively kissed both his cheek.

"You're welcome."

I stared into his unfathomable eyes. "You're wonderful."

TBC…

**A/N:** So how was that for a little extravagance on Logan's part? I can see him splurging on her, using his money to charm her, as well as his other "charms." And was the interaction cute?


	9. Chapter 9

THE OBLIVIOUS MODE

By Yih

Chapter 9

"This one or this one?" Stephanie Gentler, a customer referred to me by the redoubtable Paris Gellar-Richmond, asked while she held up two decidedly different dresses. Stephanie was like her married surname, _gentler _and _sweeter _than many of the socialites I normally dealt with. I also had no idea why she hired me either. It was a waste of good money for someone to stand at attendance offering advice, but then the truly rich never knew how to spend their money wisely lucky for the poorer members of society.

"I think blue is more your color," I remarked, giving my honest opinion. As Logan used to tell me all a time when he was being cheeky, _I didn't know when to keep my mouth shut _even when it was for my own good. He said it was my honesty that made me special. "It brings out the blue in your eyes."

She held up the dress to her voluptuous body. Stephanie had the body type that even having children, she still looked great. Even more, she was au natural. Her personal beauty which had never gone under the knife, as she had confided in me, was refreshing.

"You don't think it makes me look fat?"

I hid a smile. There was some vanity about her, but much less than the likes of Madeline or Louise. "While it's true that black does make a person look slimmer," I gestured at the slinky gown, "I think the blue flatters your complexion much more. I also like the cut better."

Thank you, Logan for his fashion tips while strolling through Bloomingdale's. Without them, I'd have been one lost kitty. Odd though that my best friend wasn't the least bit gay even though he showed far more fashion sense than me—and I was getting paid for my job!

Stephanie pursed her lips together as she seriously contemplated the blue gown. It gave her the look of a cute Chinese goldfish. I liked Stephanie to work for her again without a much thought. It didn't hurt that she was far easier than Paris, and her children were far from bratty. I also had the feeling she was going to pay generously.

"I think I agree," she finally stated. "I'll wear the blue tonight." She gave me a tremulous smile and confided, "I never know what to wear. I always have this feeling that I'll choose the wrong dress or say the wrong thing. Do you know that I once went to a party and wore the very same dress that another lady was wearing? I was mortified!"

On cue, a horrified expression was on. "That's terrible."

"It was truly embarrassing," she rehashed. "What was even worse was when a friend of mine confided to me that I was wearing a dress so last season." That was another unforgivable sin in the world of the New York elite. "I was glad then," she smiled without contrite, "that I wasn't the only one to wear the dress."

And she had humor, another thankful attribute Stephanie had that the others lacked. I smiled as she expected me to. To have to pretend acquiesce to all that was said wasn't as difficult for Stephanie's benefit as it was for the others. It didn't feel so much as if I were playing the role of someone else. If I were 25 years older, perhaps Stephanie and I might be friends rather than employer and employee.

"Have you gotten all the arrangements done for my luncheon tomorrow?" she inquired. It was one of the only real assistant jobs she had for me. I had had to call around town to make sure that everything was going smoothly and make some last minute arrangements that had fallen through. Her regular assistant had been sick, and I was the regular one people called when their normal assistants called in sick or if the work became too much for a single person to handle.

"Everything's done," I responded. "If there are any problems, you can always call me tomorrow and I'll try to rectify it. But everything should run smoothly."

"You are a life savior," she remarked cheerfully. "I didn't know what I was going to do when Anna called in sick. I can't do anything without her, you know. I've only had her for the past 6 months, but I can't imagine ever doing anything without her. But you are rather remarkable yourself. Why is it that you aren't a regular assistant to someone?"

Stephanie had a tendency to chatter overmuch, but her voice wasn't nasal or graining to the ears. It wasn't a voice I couldn't tolerate. I could stand it, especially if it meant that I might have some excess spending money. Excess money was ever in short supply. But while I might let the chitchat go in one ear and out the other, I couldn't ignore questions.

I could have said that no one had asked, but that wasn't true. Paris or Louise would have hired me fulltime, if I let them. I didn't want to work fulltime for either of them. It would have driven me mad in a month. It was enough to work a day or two per week for them. "I like picking my jobs," I answered honestly. It also gave me the chance to set aside considerable time for writing when I wasn't in a writing drought as I currently was.

"It seems like such an instable way to make a living."

It was. I constantly worried about money, but having a 9 to 5 job held no particular appeal to me. I had done that enough summers between my years at college to know that a set schedule held no appeal to me. If anything, the thought of a regular job to go to 5 days a week was more of a fear than the thought of being without money. I was lucky enough not to have to worry about being out on the streets if I were unemployed thanks to Logan.

I didn't even have to work if I didn't want to. He'd already said he was more than willing to support me through the completion of my first novel, however long it took. But I wasn't about to let him do that. It was bad enough that I was living with him as a basic charity case. There was no need to compound and take even more advantage of him than I already was. I felt guilty enough.

"It is, but it lets me choose my jobs," I responded with a small smile.

Stephanie returned the smile good-naturedly. "So is there anyone special in your life?"

My first thought was a resounding no. It was a bit bitter too, considering that I had finally worked up the courage to contact Jake and he hadn't bothered to return my calls for the past three days. A day was okay. Two days, I could excuse. But three days was a bit much. He was deliberately ignoring me, and wasn't he the one that had reassured me that we would remain friends despite this breakup?

I was about to answer her when the intercom interrupted me, "Mrs. Stephanie, there's a gentleman by the name of Logan Huntzberger at the door wanting to know if Miss Gilmore is ready to leave for their engagement?"

"You can send him up, Gretchen," she replied. Turning her attention back to me, Stephanie mused, "I suppose that answers my question, doesn't it?" I could only smile weakly. "How long have you been dating Logan, Rory?"

Not only was Stephanie talkative, she also was quite curious. Her inquisitiveness was gleaming in her golden eyes. Normally, I wasn't enthusiastic about baring my soul to anyone but there was something very endearing about her. Maybe it was because she was easy to talk to? "I'm not…"

Again I was interrupted, this time by the arrival of Logan and Gretchen, Stephanie's formidable housekeeper. "Mr. Huntzberger," she introduced, "Mrs. Stephanie." She bowed her head formally and ducked out of the room to return to her duties. I had a feeling that Stephanie heavily relied on Gretchen's opinion, and I was hoping that I had made a good impression on Gretchen.

"Good afternoon," Stephanie greeted him pleasantly, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet Rory's young man, and such a handsome one at that."

There was only the slightest hint that Logan had been taken by surprise. His left eyebrow had risen in an _oh was that so_ manner? But other than that, there was no other indication that would draw contradiction to Stephanie's belief that Logan had to be my special someone. I could have reversed her misconception; however, it wasn't as if I was going to be working for Stephanie much. Her real assistant was just sick, after all. I was a temporary aide.

"Hello," Logan responded, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to brush a light kiss, "the pleasure is mine."

"You are one lucky girl," Stephanie remarked.

I could see a glint in Logan's eyes that definitely wasn't good. He was going to enjoy playing this up if I wasn't going to stop him. He grinned then and whatever annoyance I felt melted into goo. Logan was looking rather devastating today. Then again, he almost always looked overwhelmingly too good to be true. It wasn't fair. I never looked that good--- I frowned--- did I ever look good?

"I suppose I shouldn't be keeping you from your engagement with your young man," Stephanie murmured. "I guess I can handle everything from here." She gestured to her checkbook. "How much do I owe you for the day?"

I bit my bottom lip. I worked for $30/hour. "$180?"

She nodded and began to write the check with a flourish. She folded it and handed it to me. "Thanks for all your help today, Rory. I certainly couldn't have gotten through the day without you. I'll definitely keep your number if I ever need someone to run any odd or extra jobs for me."

This time my smile was genuine. "I enjoyed working for you," I responded sincerely. "Feel free to call me anytime."

"Thank you for letting me steal Rory away from you," Logan drawled in a casual yet grateful manner. "And I must say that it was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I've heard much about you from Harold, and everything that he says about you is true." Stephanie flushed with pleasure. "You ought to come to more of his business functions with him; they aren't as tedious as you think."

She nodded as if considering. "You are right, I should. I do attend when I can, but I do have a lot of charity functions that I must deal with in my spare time. I did attend more in my younger years, but I haven't gone to many recently and look what I've missed!"

"A lot," Logan added teasingly, holding his hand out to me. I took it, not being given much of a choice since Stephanie was gazing at us with an expectant air. "Now you must pardon us as we make our exit, Mrs. Gentler."

"Please do," Stephanie stated encouragingly.

"Have a good evening, Stephanie."

"I will dear!" she exclaimed. "You two dears have a good night!"

TBC…

**A/N:** Ah yes, the appearance of Stephanie, which was too good to pass up. She's married to Finn or Colin, whichever you want ;p. Lala. Comments as always is very much my cup of tea!


	10. Chapter 10

THE OBLIVIOUS MODE  
By Yih

Chapter 10

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Logan remarked as he opened the car door for me. "I certainly didn't expect to pick you up from Mrs. Gentler's house and find myself unexpectedly assigned the role of your boyfriend." I nodded glumly. "So how ever did that happen?"

"She asked me if I had a boyfriend," I responded tonelessly. "I didn't get a chance to tell her I didn't when you arrived and she said that your arrival answered her question for me. I was going to correct her misconception when you walked in and interrupted my second chance to get the matter straightened out."

He glanced at me sideways. "So it's my fault, eh?"

"Everything's always your fault."

He smirked. "I figured."

"So why are you here?" I inquired. I knew I was going to eat dinner with him, it was sort of a given now that I no longer had the Marty option. There were other friends, of course, but I had gotten into a bad habit of putting them off because of Marty and Logan obligations. With their time consumption, it was any wonder I got any work done on my novel. And I hadn't gotten anything substantial done for at least a fortnight. I should write but I ought to catch up with my friends. This weekend was as good of a time as any. "I thought I was meeting you at home."

He blinked slowly. "I thought I'd drive you home."

"You know," I muttered, "I do know how to take the subway home."

He shrugged. "You did get lost that one time."

"It was one time, and that was only because I fell asleep!"

"Wouldn't you rather ride home in my Mercedes-Benz than use public transportation?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course, silly boy."

He sighed. "Then why are you sniping?"

Good statement, _I mean_, rhetorical question. "How was work?" I asked instead, thinking it best to switch subjects. "Did you crush your opponents' savings account until they wanted to cry and become your best friend?"

He stifled a yawn. "I don't see why you think that all I do empty people's savings account. That's only a small part of what I do. If anything, my father is more the takeover master while I'm more of a reorganization specialist. I go into the companies that my father has already taken over and introduce new management."

"Don't you think you crush people's savings account when you fire them?"

"Perhaps," he agreed mildly, "but I also cushion the others that I don't fire when I reorganize their damn company. If it was being taken over, it was probably in danger of failing in the future anyhow. My father merely prevents an inevitable bankruptcy from being filed. How else do you think my father has built the Huntzberger Corporation unless he buys companies cheaply and reorganizes them to be successful where they weren't?"

Business and I didn't mix very well. We're like water and oil. We didn't mingle well; instead we stayed separated. Trying to explain business to me was like trying to talk to a stone wall. You can say whatever you want to say, but the stone wall is still not going to talk back to you.

He sighed. He knew I wasn't listening. This happened every time he tried to talk business with me. You'd think that by now, he'd get the point and not say anything even somewhat along those lines. But no, every once and a while he'd slip up and I'd have to remind him by turning into a stone wall and bouncing his words back to him.

"I hate it when you do that," he muttered.

"I know," I responded simply and sweetly.

"You're an infuriating woman."

I smiled. "Thank you."

He rolled his eyes. "So where would you like to go to dinner?"

"I don't care."

"If you let me choose, you know I'll pick…"

"O'Rourke's," I finished for him.

"And you don't care?"

I wasn't particularly fond of the place, but I didn't really care what I ate today. I did have a tendency to be picky with what I ate; however, the tendency comes and goes. Today it was gone. "I don't care."

"Then O'Rourke's it is."

"Okay."

He started the engine. "I forgot to mention that someone's joining us for dinner."

I blinked slowly. "New girlfriend?" Logan always seemed to have a girl dangling from his arm. It was odd for him not to have a bevy of fortune hunters chasing his ass. He never went single for long. Then again, he never stayed attached for long either. He was constantly getting together and breaking up with the opposite sex. It was a life pattern.

"Nope."

I stared at him, intrigued. The peculiar smile on his face was another irking matter as much as his statement that said nothing: "I've known her for a longtime."

Old girlfriend then. I narrowed my eyes, speculating who it could be. It could be Emma; I liked her as well as I could like any over accessorized Blondie. But Emma and Logan had parted in bad terms. It wouldn't be her. It might be Katrina and man did I despise her guts. It was unfortunate that of all of Logan's ex-girlfriends, Katrina was so sickeningly beautiful that he had every reason to date her just for the look factor. She was smart too, and clever. His parents would definitely approve. She'd be the next perfect Huntzberger wife.

I knew he was still friends with her. "Is it Katrina?" I inquired politely.

"No."

Fiona then? Fiona was definitely not someone his parents would approve of, not by a long shot. She had an edge to her that could be downright scary. Of all his ex's, I liked her the most. I could see myself being friends with her if she hadn't seen me as competition for Logan. That was the reason it hadn't worked out. Me. But I'm glad that he chose a friendship that had spanned more than a decade rather than married life with her.

"Fiona?"

He shook his head.

Were there any other girls that he'd been serious about? I couldn't think of another one that he might consider bringing out to dinner with me in tow. I was downright curious now. This was someone new. Had I been so absorbed with work and trying to fight the writer's block bug and the Marty dilemma to miss that Logan was dating someone new? It was a possibility. "Who is it?" I demanded.

"My mother."

My jaw dropped and I pulverized him with a glare. His odd smile had turned into a full blast smirk. He had known what I had been thinking about. He knew quite well what I thought about the bitches that were always chasing after him like they were in heat and he was the last available male in the universe. "Your mother?" He also knew quite well that Alexandria Huntzberger paralyzed me, thought not in fright like Kirsten Kincaid but awe.

"Yes, my mother," he confirmed.

"Why?"

He shrugged carelessly. "She's in town?"

"She doesn't randomly pop into town without a reason," I retorted.

We stopped at a random light. "She's probably here to try her hand at

matchmaking me with some eligible New York debutante that she knows through her vast social connections and whatnot. I don't see why she thinks that I need to get married. I'm still quite young."

He was. I hadn't even considered getting married anytime soon. Even if it was a bit of a cliché, girls did tend to marry before boys did. "Well, if you have the typical year long courtship then year long engagement, that would leave you at the ripe age of 26 at the time of your tying of the knot. However, if you veer into a longer courtship, which can last anywhere from two to five years, you could be as old as 30 at the time of your marriage."

I could actually see Logan taking the longer route. He didn't go into anything without a knowing thoroughness that made him such an excellent businessman. If his father had built the family fortune, trust in Logan to multiply them several times over. Thinking of that multiplication was enough to send my head spinning. I had never been good at numbers, but I knew it was _a damn lot _of money.

"And didn't your parents marry young?"

"They did," he answered.

"So wouldn't they expect you to be like them? Like parent like child?"

"Isn't the saying like father like son or like mother like daughter?"

"You know what I'm getting at," I retorted.

He chuckled and eased the car in front of the valet parking. "Are you going to be

polite?"

"When am I not?"

"Very often," he remarked. "You don't consider your behavior around my dates polite, do you?" I flushed. He was right, it wasn't. It was downright rude. "But I suppose my question was uncalled for since you do seem to be on your best behavior for my mother."

"Right you are."

The valet attendant opened the door for me. "Of course, I am." I stepped out. I'd like to have slammed the door on his typical arrogance, but the attendant was already shutting the door as softly as he could.

The smile was brittle on my face as Logan offered me his arm. Having no choice, I took it as he escorted me in. I wasn't surprised to learn that his mother had already arrived a few minutes prior and had already been seated in a personal dining room. Unlike me, she was also punctual like her son.

"Good evening," she greeted, standing up and touching my shoulder softly before

sitting back down. "It's been quite a while since I've last seen you, Rory."

It had been close to a year, I think. I do remember seeing her at some spring ball of some sort last year. But our last meaningful exchange of conversation had to be more than a year ago at a New Year's Party, when I had helped her to the ladies room when she had been feel a bit queasy in the stomach.

"Too long, I'd say," I responded with an earnest smile. "But you look as lovely as ever."

"You're too kind," Alexandria responded. "How have you been?" she inquired. "I heard from my son," she gestured to Logan, "that you've been writing a novel."

I shot him a surprised look. I wasn't aware that Logan talked to his mother about me. For all I knew, I was oblivious as his best friend to Alexandria when she had far more important things to discuss with him _like_a future wife. "I've been better," I replied. "I've got a severe case of writer's block."

"Ah," she murmured, "that must be frustrating."

It was. If only my damnable muse would return, things would start looking up. "So what brings you to New York?" I asked politely. Alexandria Huntzberger didn't appear here without a reason. "Some big event or ball of social consequence?"

She shook her elegant head. "Nothing of that sort," she answered. "I came here to see Logan and see how he is progressing with the added responsibility that his father has given to him. After that, I will be heading back to Munich."

I nodded understandingly, praying that she wouldn't launch into a talk that would be heavily business-y. Unlike with Logan, I couldn't zone out without being unbearably rude. Well, when I did ignore him it was rude but I could be rude to him without unduly offending him. I couldn't with his mother.

"After the novel is completed," she remarked, "do you plan to go back to get a

master's or PhD?"

I actually hadn't really thought that far ahead. I was a bit taken back that she was

even interested in talking to me about me. I can't really remember a time when Alexandria had talked directly to me. Oh, we've had conversations before, but they were over stuff that didn't have much to do with either of us. Small talk, if you will. And never before had Logan leaned back in his chair and didn't join in the conversation.

"I don't know," I responded. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"But I'm sure the thought has crossed your mind," she persisted, "hasn't it?"

"It has."

"Do you know what graduate program you were considering?"

I shrugged hopelessly. "There's an excellent program in Illinois, but I don't think I'd like to live there, even if it was only for two years. I think I'd probably want to stay in New York and NYU has a good program."

"So you'll most likely stay in New York?"

Curious, but not enough to satisfy it, I nodded. "Yes."

"That's good." Her eyes flicked toward her son before coming returning to me.

"What sort of career do you hope to have after graduate school?"

Again, I hadn't really been thinking too much on that. All I wanted was to finish my bloody novel and then, then I would start to think about the future. It was already too much to think about the next week and the fears of not making any money than to be confronted with the years that were in front of me. Taking one step and one day at a time was enough for me at the moment.

"Probably a Professor?" I answered because I don't think she'd like my answer if I said I had no freaking clue. "There isn't much you can do with a Masters in Creative Writing."

"True," Alexandria remarked, "but it is quite an accomplishment nonetheless and

you ought to be proud of you."

I turned startled eyes at Logan and he gave a little shrug that I'm sure was

unnoticeable. I would never have thought his mother the type to admit that a Masters in Creative Writing was something to be proud of. If anything, I would think she'd be unimpressed with anything other than a degree in Finance or International Business. I supposed that I didn't know Alexandria Huntzberger as well as I thought.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she responded pleasantly and told the waiter that she'd have a

glass of Chardonnay. Logan indicated he would have the same and I decided that I'd best stick with a non-alcoholic beverage so I got their fresh squeeze strawberry kiwi drink. "Oh," she remarked after the waiter had finished getting our drink orders, "before I forget and before the summer season is over, you and Logan must join my husband and I on a cruise."

"I…"

She smiled brilliantly. "I hope that you are going to say that I would love to and aren't even thinking of declining."

My smile was not brilliant, it was rather weak. "I'd love to." What else could I say? No? Absolutely not.

TBC…

**A/N:** Stephanie's w/ Colin. And so what do you think? I'm worn out and school's beginning again and… ahhhh… break was too short!


	11. Chapter 11

The Oblivious Mode  
Chapter 11

"Guess who?"

It was way too early in the morning for me to be playing a guessing game with someone on the fucking telephone. There were two things I knew: (1) It was a girl and (2) I didn't care who it was, I just wanted to go back to bed. I had briefly glanced at my blinking clock and it said it was only 6:30 in the morning. Who calls this early?

"I don't care."

I figured to be blunt would be a nice way of getting her to get off the phone so that I might catch a few zzz's before having to get on with the regular workday. I could have just hung up, but that would be unforgivably impolite. This frank talk wasn't much better. But to my sleepy logic it made sense.

"Rory, I'm hurt, really hurt."

This didn't sound like any of my customers. Who the hell was this?

"You don't remember my voice?"

It couldn't be… could it? I haven't heard from her in nearly five years. The first year of college we had kept touch, but the different routes we had taken had led to differentiating us until we no longer had the same relationship. It didn't help either that we had met new people either. The summer after was when we'd permanently disconnected. But there was no one else that I knew that would say something like that. No one except her. "Lane?"

"You got it."

It was Lane. The Lane I haven't seen in the past year. The Lane I hadn't heard from in nearly that long. Lane, who at one point had known me as well as Logan. The Lane who was now touring with her band, doing the things she had dreamt of since forever.

"Lane?"

"Rory?"

"How did you get my bloody number?"

She laughed. Her sweet and musical laugh. "I looked it up."

"It's not listed." It couldn't be. It was a mobile number. It wasn't listed in the traditional directories.

"I asked around."

"Who?" I had to ask. Who had she kept in contact with all these years who would have known my number? "Who did you ask?"

"I know one of Logan's friends."

She knew one of Logan's friends? Who? I couldn't think of anyone from Logan's crowd that would mix with a drummer from a band, even a succeeding band.

"Who?"

"Finn."

Duh, of course Rory! It had to be him.

"He told me that he never sees you anymore. It seems when Logan isn't monopolizing your time, you're busy working. I suppose it's your novel right? How's it going?"

Lane still knew me well.

"Yes."

"What's it about?"

A fictionalized retelling of my life. But I didn't want to tell her that. I decided the duo L's would suffice. "Life and love."

"If it's based on your experiences," she murmured, "it would be well worth a reading."

How did she still know me so effortlessly? Was I that easy to know?

"Rory…"

"Yes, Lane?"

"Can you meet me for lunch?"

This was the reason that she'd called at 6:30 in the morning? So that I could meet her for lunch? Why couldn't she have called the night before? It was like Lane to make her plans last minute like it was mine to come late to everything unless I was being propelled to an event by Logan for punctuality's sake. "I have to work Lane." It was a valid excuse. A very good one too. I did have to work.

"If I have to pay for the time, I will."

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you."

"All right," I said. I could never resist her.

"When?"

"Does 1 sound okay?"

"I'll be there," I answered.

"Don't be late."

Yes, she definitely knew me.

-

"Who called?" Logan was asking the question like how my mother would have asked it. Both of them were the inquisitive want-to-know-who-I-was-talking-to type. Usually he didn't ask anymore, but he knew for a fact from my constant complaining that Marty hadn't called me back and we both knew that only Marty was crazy enough to try calling this early in the morning.

"It wasn't Marty," I answered.

I knew that pricked his curiosity. "Who then?"

I didn't think I could get him to play a guessing game. "Lane."

"Lane?" he murmured. "The Lane?"

"Yes."

He gulped down his coffee. "Interesting."

He took the news well. He had never really got to know Lane. Both of them had never been more than friendly acquaintances. Though I suppose I wanted him to react in a more _oh_ fashion than he was doing. I sighed, when did I turn into an attention whore?

"What?" he asked irritatingly. "Do I have two heads or something?"

Wooh. Now that was more like it. I smiled a bit. Now that was the exact tone he should have had when I told him that it was Lane. "Rory," he snapped. "What is it?" But wait, something was wrong with this. He was not using the tone in response to Lane but to what… what me? Wooh. That was weird.

"Uh…"

"Uh, what?"

"Uh… you've got no reaction."

He blinked. "To what?"

"Lane."

"Oh," he murmured. "What do you want me to do? I never knew her that well. What am I suppose to say?'

I blinked. "How do you know that I'm going to see her?"

He pointed to his ears. I was still confused. What did his ears have to do with

anything? "I happened to overhear part of your conversation with Lane," he explained with a sigh of exasperation. I stared at him blankly. "You asked her where she wanted to meet you." Oh, I forgot about that. He grinned ruefully. "You've got an awful memory."

I pursed my lips and muttered defensively, "I do not!" He raised a challenging eyebrow. "I remember what I'm writing!"

"Yeah, yeah." He messed my hair up. "If you don't, who will?"

I scowled. "Just because I don't remember what I said…"

"A few minutes ago," he added.

"Doesn't mean I have an awful memory!" I exclaimed, even though as I said it--- I had to admit that it sounded like a weak, weak argument.

"No?"

I smiled sheepishly. "No."

He rolled his eyes. "I still," he began, changing back to the topic we had been discussing before I'd gotten off topic, "don't understand why you think I should have a reaction to Lane."

"I don't know."

"So there," he retorted with a smirk.

Why does he always get the last word in?

"Would you like to come?" I asked to ask something and to say something.

"With you?"

I nodded.

"To meet Lane?"

I nodded again.

He gave me a slow and easy smile. "No."

I rolled my eyes. Logan was so Logan. He could be utterly charming to everyone but me it seemed. Then again, did I want him to turn that suave personality on me that melted the hearts of hundreds of eligibles in NYC? I think not. So I guess I should thank him.

Thank you, Logan.

-

A/N: I realize this is really short, and I'm sorry but at least I updated.


End file.
